Crimson Avenue
by Death.Note.Apple
Summary: Light Yagami had never intended for people to die, not at all. In their own way they were very dear to him. It was only chance that had begun it all, and justice, surely justice. Someone is lurking within the shadows, always watching and always waiting, ensuring that Light remains pure; no one can stop him, well, no one but L. L/Light, AU, Rated M to be safe, no future lemons.
1. Prologue

AN: Welcome one an all to this little project I've recently taken to!

It's a clear AU of Death Note: the same beloved characters, some brief OC's, and other minor characters in Death Note that Obata hadn't even named. There are some similarities I had to mix inside this concoction my subconscious designed for me.

By that I mean it came to me during a dream, but not as graphic as I wrote it. It just gave me the basic outline.

I hadn't realised how much research it would take to even write it—law, some cop-terms, knife dissections, the task force's personalities (I never really remembered theirs after awhile). o\o*

So I'd like to give a quick shout out for my sources: Thank you Death Note Volume 13. Thank you Death Note wiki. Thank you Wikipedia. And thank you "The Killer-Book of Infamous Murders" by Tom and Michael Philbin (it's a good read, I recommend it).

Quick disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters in them. They are owned by Obata. All I do own is the story, the plot, and my words.

Now onto the beginning, the beginning of the end!

* * *

**Prologue: The Beginning of the End**

"Take a deep breath. Breathe. Let in that final gasp of air before I take it away. Think of it as a gift from me to you, and my gift? Well your life of course; doesn't that sound romantic?" a thin blade tore into moist, porcelain skin with an act of passion, digging further into its flesh with every inch the sharp metal gained. Tears escaped the man's prey.

**"**Why am I doing this, you ask? Well that's none of your concern right now, but don't worry, I'll leave your body somewhere nice. Comfortable. Where someone can find you. That way, there's some hope that you can be avenged, but by then I'll be long gone," a clock illuminated the otherwise dark, bare room for an instant as its holder studied the inanimate object.

**"**It seems to be time. The hour's getting late and I have things to do, and places to be. Oh don't cry, I'll make this quick...that's what you wanted me to say, didn't you? Well life is harsh and yours is relatively short," strong hands grasped onto small, delicate ones, bending it to its side at an unnatural angle until an unmistakable crunch resounded throughout the enclosed space. A muffled scream followed.

**"**Wait, don't move. Let me savor your tears, your image. That way I'll have something to commemorate my memory of you . Smile now," a bright flash momentarily blinded its intended victim.

**"**Good girl. That turned out marvelous, didn't it?" a soft smile graced his lips for just an instance as he shared the photograph he had just taken. A sob was its response.

**"**Well it's about time... What am I going to do after this, you ask? Well isn't it obvious? My friend, this is just the beginning. Who knows what's going to happen next? For you however, this is the end," he gradually lifted his chosen weapon above his head, its shadow staring menacingly at its intended sufferer, pausing for a moment so its user could whisper a single word.

**"**Goodnight."

* * *

As if it were a welcomed embrace, midnight descended upon the city with one fluid motion cloaking the empty streets in darkness. A sudden light illuminated a previously opaque alley, left compassionately beside a still angel. Soft fingers trailed down the bare skin of the angel's shoulder, lips hovering over the painted red lips of the woman; a smile overtook the man's features. He whispered, breath ghosting across her mangled corpse, "Such a peaceful expression, your body displayed in a beautiful manner, clutching a memento of God against your breast. Such serenity, such exquisiteness. I seem to have improved." He lowered his lips until it barely touched her ear, sorrow tainting his previously wholesome voice, "Forgive me."

As if a button was pushed within the man's twisted mind, he abruptly removed himself from the lifeless being, ignoring its presence all together, and left its vicinity in order to head home. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered the trail of candles which led to the body of Misa Amane.


	2. Chapter 1

_AN: Prologue was short and sweet, I decided to write chapter one before submitting it to fanfiction._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of its amazing characters. Let the power invested in me create a story with a plot and own the shit out of that instead._

* * *

**Chapter One: Interference**

Obsidian eyes gazed thoughtfully at his reflection from within his latest sugary concoction he could now barely call a cup of tea; however, his thoughts weren't directed towards himself. In actuality, they were revolved around a string of serial killings he had come to refer to as the To-Oh murders.

****There was no doubt within L's mind that the perpetrator was an obsessive killer. The man's(1) work was consistent with very few fresh details added here and there—undoubtedly which had occurred in the spark of the moment. As time progressed and the numbers increased, it appeared that this monster was becoming more and more violent. The overall conditions of his victims worsened. Did he have certain ties with every one? Was he working his way through a sea of women whom he had despised? Or was he just merely reflecting the self-hatred he had for himself? There was a great number of potential reasons, but without the perpetrator there to answer any questions the investigation team may harbor, there was never going to be a true answer.

****It wouldn't surprise the great detective if the man saw this as an art, the crime scene alone could attest to that.

****The man wanted them to be found. Although he preferred to leave their corpses somewhere dark and enclosed, they were always in a location easy to find. To ensure their discovery, he precariously placed a trail of candles for a poor soul to stumble upon, only to witness a sight that was sure to haunt them for the rest of their lives. To see those poor women stripped, open wounds illuminated by candle-light with dead eyes staring into nothingness.

****His victims acted as sculptures for the man. He bathed their blood-soaked bodies, freed their hair from every burdening knot, and meticulously painted their faces with makeup to provide some appearance of life. Laid gently against their breasts was always a single hand enfolded over a rosary, its ornate cross always visible to the viewer. Majestic wings were painted from the blood of the deceased, giving the still body an illusion that she was a fallen angel. If she was to be turned on her side, the illusion was to be completed by two incisions that marred every back. Vertical and perfectly parallel, five inches long and two-and-a-half inches deep. Flawlessly concise. Two incisions to represent two wings.

****It was later determined that these strange markings were administered while she was still alive, and screaming.**  
**

The man behind this atrocious symbolism was hoping to instill a spark of admiration within its viewer, but it only instilled a chill up their spine. Even the most experienced crime-fighter felt sick at the sight. This was one case where cake couldn't peacefully settle in the stomach of a certain great detective.**  
**

The women who fought their fate against death had never stood a chance, this man appeared to be overly cautious, practically flawless when performing the murders. There were never any witnesses, he ensured so by kidnapping his chosen victims in the middle of the night, leaving nothing for their parents to find, but an open window.**  
**

L took another sip of his tea, absentmindedly swishing the liquid substance from cheek to cheek in order to savor its intense, sweet flavor, his eyes changed its course towards a lone folder on top of a coffee table, which contained information regarding the victims themselves. This was where the significance of the girls further confirmed his deduction that the killer had an obsessive nature.**  
**

Oshiro Kimiko, age 19, a second year student of To-Oh University who had excelled in the fine arts. There was not a soul who had anything bad to say about her. Her death was as much of a shock to the public as it was for Kimiko's parents.**  
**

Kayame Natsuki, age 18, a first year student of To-Oh University. Her goal in life was to receive a bachelor's degree in education and teaching for English. She was a cheerful, charismatic woman who had very few enemies.**  
**

Hayasha Ai, age 21, a fourth year student of To-Oh University. It was a week before graduation when her death abruptly arrived, her bachelor's degree in business was never to be given to her. Dozens of students cried at the news, very few walked on the college grounds without a haunted expression tainting their usually cheerful demeanor.**  
**

They were all beautiful, all intelligent, and all very successful, and now they were all dead.**  
**

It was only a matter of time before the next body was discovered, and without any new leads there was no surefire way to stop the event before it happened. It was an apparently unsolvable case, a challenge, one L could not refuse.**  
**

He felt his back pocket begin to vibrate, no doubt it was a call from the investigation team. His lithe fingers reached briskly for the phone, answering immediately after the first ring began to sound. "Ryuzaki speaking," L answered monotonously, dangling the phone beside his ear by its antenna. "Any progress with the case, Yagami-san?"**  
**

Voices echoed in the background of the opposite side of the conversation, none of which belonged to Soichiro Yagami, chief of the police; based upon the state of urgency within each unfamiliar person speaking, L deduced that tragedy had struck once again. "Ryuzaki, someone gave us a call moments ago reporting that they found another body; they mentioned candles. We're just about to dispatch a police squad." Here he exchanged the address.**  
**

**"**And you followed L's given instructions?" L asked, rising from the single couch within his shabby hotel room.**  
**

**"**Of course I did. He's emphasized that our investigative team must follow his instructions to a 'T', so that's what we've done. Do you question our abilities?" Soichiro responded irritably. He did not hold a high opinion of the world's greatest detective's chosen representative; the man was withdrawn, socially inept, and arrogant. Almost immediately after his task force received their first call from a man who had claimed that he was _the _L, the chief felt wary. Even as a pale and crooked figure stood before his team with _the _L talking through a nearby laptop, introducing the man as Rue Ryuzaki, a medical examiner (ME), that feeling never seemed to dissipate. As a result, his feelings towards the characters, L and Ryuzaki, had evolved into a strong form of dislike. Their very presence irked the chief to no end.**  
**

**"**I apologise if I have insulted you in any way," it was clear he didn't mean it, "Yagami-san. It never hurts to double-check. I'll be arriving at the scene in no more than ten minutes, I'll see you then," L closed the lid of his cellphone, tucking it carefully into his back pocket where it rightfully belonged. He turned his head towards the nearest hallway, calling out into the adjacent room, "Watari, grab the car keys, we have just received a call from Yagami-san. It appears that we are needed."

* * *

"I want the perimeter to be barricaded; don't allow anyone outside of our task force to come through. Matsuda, I told you to keep your hands off of the equipment!" Soichiro called out to his crew as he absentmindedly slid his abandoned cellphone into his coat, his mind eliminating any thoughts of distrust towards the detective and the ME in order to replace it with thoughts relating to the task at hand: isolating the crime scene, and scouting for any potential evidence.**  
**

A good cop never allowed any emotional burdens to interfere with his work, and up until today, Soichiro had never experienced any problems with that separation. He was a _damn_good cop. This case, however, was emotionally toiling; every body that found its way in some wretched alley fell upon the chief's shoulders. Young women's fates were in the hands of his task force, if they couldn't catch the culprit soon, another angel would appear in one of the abandoned corners of the city.**  
**

The discovery of the serial murderer's most recent victim just about sent the chief over the edge, what lied within the depths of the shaded alley was the mangled corpse of Misa Amane. His son's beloved Misa Amane. He didn't know how to bring the news to Light, how this sudden tragedy was now winding its way towards his family.**  
**

Soichiro couldn't even bring himself to so much as glance at her remains, all he could picture was the smiling face of Misa now marred by death and crimson-red lipstick. This was why he had assigned the task force to do jobs that he hadn't had the capability to do in this state; Aizawa was ordered to chalk the site, cover her small hands with bags, and examine her body for any visible clues regarding the actual killer, as he and Ide placed numbers beside what little evidence they could find, take pictures to document it, and hope to find an important lead. This left Mogi and Ukita to ensure that no curious bystanders were to wander into the crime scene while Matsuda impatiently kept an eye out for the dark-haired ME's arrival. He was grateful for how level-headed his team remained while he was overwhelmed by grief and rage.**  
**

The police chief glanced briefly at his wristwatch, five minutes had passed since he had called Ryuzaki, if he had followed the time frame that he was provided with, there was still five measly minutes until he entered the picture. He combed a hand through his graying hair in frustration, not wishing to deal with the eccentric medical examiner, but he couldn't deny how much help their task force truly needed with this case if they were to stop the murderer once and for all. That man was L's eyes and ears for this case; Ryuzaki was to be heeded and never once questioned, much to the task force's dismay.

Against his nerves, he reverted back to combing through the isolated area for anything, anything at all that had the potential of finding the bastard whom committed these heinous crimes.**  
**

Unfortunately for him, there was nothing he could find. The killer was very thorough when it had come to ensuring that there was no evidence. It was only pure luck that their team had discovered that there was a partial shoe-print coated in the blood of one of the grotesque wings. The only factor that they could discern from such a small find was that whoever had killed those girls wore a size 9. It was a pitiful lead, but a lead nonetheless.

**"**Chief, I can see Ryuzaki-san's limo pulling up not to far from here!" Matsuda called urgently to his boss, eyes blazing with child-like excitement at the prospect of having this brilliant man work alongside him for the very first time. It was the closest Matsuda would ever get to working beside the great L.**  
**

Soichiro sighed exasperatedly at the youth, not a moment ago Matsuda stood before the task force alarmingly pale and utterly terrified after finding the nerve to stand before Misa Amane and actually take in her appearance as a whole then just a few brief glances.**  
**

Ryuzaki had been correct, he had arrived in exactly nine minutes and fifty-five seconds. No more than ten.**  
**

The police chief stood into a full stance, his back previously bent from aimlessly searching the environment for anything beneficial to the case. He pried off his elastic gloves, offering his hand to the new arrival, it was easily accepted, "Ryuzaki-san, before you head towards the body, I would like to warn you that this death... may shock you."**  
**

The stoic man merely stared impassively at his elder with calculating grey eyes as he shoved both hands into the front pockets of his jeans, "Yagami-san, I assure you that there are very few things in this world that have the capability of surprising me to such an extent."**  
**

**"**This time, I'm not so sure," Soichiro muttered to himself grimly, eyes grazing over the lurid entryway where the angel now lay. "This way." He only led Ryuzaki as far as his body was willing to go, unable to endure the sight of Misa's body once again, making it as far as the second candle. Every candle following would serve to lead Ryuzaki the rest of the way.**  
**

Despite the rays of the midday sun's attempts to penetrate the consuming shadows embedded within the surroundings of the alleyway, the stony alley remained dark and foreboding. The candles progressing forward acted as his only trail towards what lay at the alley's dead end, the fire that previously provided some source of light was long since put out. For what felt like minutes was actually just mere seconds, an illusion provided by the haunting atmosphere this scenery brought forth.**  
**

L wasn't surprised to stand before the image of Aizawa holding a flashlight inbetween his teeth above the corpse with much needed focus as he outlined her body with a small stub of white chalk. His companion had heard the soft patter of naked feet stepping its way towards him, so he absentmindedly motioned his hand towards the lone flashlight that sat in the very right hand corner besides a leather case filled with any extra supplies the investigation team might need. L obliged to Aizawa's wordless command, grasping its tail-end with his spindly hands, streaming its golden-hued light around the scene briefly before focusing upon the face of the dead.**  
**

L's eyes widened noticeably at the sight, his thumb subconsciously rising towards his mouth in order to chew on it lightly while his mind suddenly drove into hyper activity—he had yet to put on his own pair of elastic gloves. It was not the tortured body of the victim that caused him such surprise—granted it had unsettled him for just a moment, it always had, but being as experienced as he was, it had not lasted long—but the identity of the person itself. She was different from the others; Misa Amane had never attended To-Oh University, she was considered neither bright nor intelligent, the only thing of great similarity was her charismatic personality and beautiful appearance. It hardly seemed possible that this obsessive killer would begin to change its course so soon, so what had caused this sudden veer from his steady path of destruction?**  
**

Soichiro Yagami had been right, this victim utterly dumbfounded and shocked the great detective. However, perhaps this change of events would benefit them. L was now 87% positive that this man had connections with every woman he had murdered, a past harboring so much loathing that it brought forth these violent urges to kill. The only question that remained was who and why exactly. What had these women done to deserve such prolonged deaths?**  
**

**"**Aizawa-san, was there anything of interest on the corpse of Miss Amane? Anything that may be of importance?" Ryuzaki began, crouching beside the concentrating man with an expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.**  
**

**"**So far it seems like she's been treated like the others. Her heel has been cut so that she couldn't run. There are some bruises around her wrists indicating her wrists were tied by ropes," Aizawa responded to his co-worker without a second thought, his mind spiraling through the repetitive images provided from the previous autopsies.**  
**

L nodded absently, pulling out his own pair of gloves in order to prepare for a brief examination of the woman's body. His eyes raked over her smooth skin, eyeing the distinct bruises lined along her neck. He brought his spindly fingers towards her chin, lifting it up ever so gently in order to make the marks more visible to the both of them. L spoke,

"Aizawa-san, do you see these bruises? The shape of them indicate that the killer had choked Miss Amane. An autopsy and better lighting will help determine if this was the cause of death, although I doubt her life ended because of such. There are three sets of these bruises in different locations, either he lost his grip and had to begin the process again or he had performed this action multiple times."

Aizawa nodded wordlessly, horrified at the prospect that this sick man may have choked her repeatedly for his own horrendous pleasure.

"The killer also inflicted her with burns, it seems. She has three distinct third degree burns: over her left nipple, across her midsection, and over her right clavicle. Four two degree burns were also inflicted along each leg. The object that created these wounds isn't easily discernible; I'm 59.2% positive that these burns were caused by the grind of a knife(2)," after a moment of silent contemplation, he proceeded to continue, "With what was most likely that same knife, he created varied lacerations across her chest-"

"And while he was at it, he broke her left hand and all of her fingers attached to it," Aizawa interrupted, an undertone of hysteria leaking into his voice as his mind envisioned violent scene after violent scene that the young model had to endure.

"Aizawa-san, do not interrupt me again," if there was such a thing L hated more than ignorant people, it was those that cut him off in mid-sentence.

"Sorry, Ryuzaki-san."

His grey eyes stared at the man unnervingly, sending chills up the older man's spine once their eyes locked for a brief moment. The medical examiner had given him the impression that he was peering into the other man's soul, however, his thoughts were far away from the individual. The persona of the killer was his prime concern than what lay within the mind of his co-worker.

Misa Amane had to have known the killer, or have come in contact with him recently; it was the only explanation L could come up with that seemed the most plausible. Why else would this man trade his consistent targets of To-Oh University for a ditsy and famous model?

L's overall picture of who the killer would have been narrowed down significantly if the newest victim hadn't been who she was ; he had come to the conclusion that he must be a student attending the college or an employee, that way he had clear access of the school grounds, thus given the great opportunity to both observe and choose which unlucky female would be the next target of his wrath. Misa Amane's appearance had dropped its likelihood by seventeen percent.

Nevertheless, L would set his sights upon people of that quota. If there was one thing he had learned throughout all of his years of experience as a detective, was that he should never go against his gut instinct.

"Is there anything else that you notice?" Aizawa questioned hesitantly, unsure how the ME would respond while in such a quiet state.

The detective glanced towards the mangled figure before he slowly stood up, his back slightly hunched over because of the scoliosis he obviously had, "For the moment, yes Aizawa-san. I shall now take it upon myself to examine the crime scene. The more eyes roaming over the abandoned alley, the better of a chance having made a discovery."

Aizawa merely nodded at his retreating form before resuming his work of preserving the state of her fingers in a paper bag (3).

It wasn't difficult to decide where his own examination of the crime scene would begin. He supposed that the investigation team would solely attempt to search for evidence within the site of the crime, thus L would search beyond the yellow tape that fenced them away from the supposed innocence of the world. He got onto all fours as soon as his feet led him away from the task force, knowing full well that this was the best method of finding even the most minuscule of evidence.

His current employees gave the curious man strange looks, wondering why Ryuzaki was crawling across the weathered floor like an animal. Those stares would go unnoticed.

His mind was completely consumed in his current task, ignoring the pain he felt in his hands and knees from the stray gravel that littered the worn, shabby floor covered in a plethora amount of unidentifiable liquids, and the ache of his teeth as he held the flashlight in his mouth. This went on for some time as the others scrambled to finish their various jobs in order to earn a break, in the ten minutes of searching there was nothing he could find, nothing important that is. This frustrated L to no end, yet he continued to persist forward using this technique in order to find that missing something. Every criminal always leaves some sort of evidence somewhere nearby. It was inevitable; it was law.

It was well worth the effort. Sitting atop a trash bag lying deep within the confines of a parallel alley—two entrances over—were a pair of garden gloves. His eyes focused on the very tips of the fabric fingers, eying the crimson tint the ivory-color possessed; his eyes strayed towards the inside the opening of the right glove where a couple of strands of honey-brown hair lay. _Bingo._

L cautiously stood, ensuring that no movement caused the precious object to topple off of its perch. "Yagami-san, you've best walk over here. I believe I have found what you've all been searching for."

* * *

Technology was a marvelous asset to any investigation team, improving its efficiency exponentially.

Just as anticipated, the autopsy had taken much longer to complete than the average four hours. Every wound was categorized and measured, documented and filed. Besides a few minor lacerations and abrasions that had been dealt upon her, the only new revelation was that a blunt object had been repeatedly smashed into her skull creating a concussion. Her death had come slowly, each injury inflicted before before it had claimed her. In the very end, she had died from blood loss.

Through microanalysis, the task force had confirmed that those locks of hair did not belong to any of the victims; the tests administered to the blood samples collected from the fingertips of the garden gloves, however, were that of Misa Amane.

It was a blessing, a large step to finding their murderer, and damning evidence which could easily stand up in court, for only the killer could match up to the strands of hair microscopically. Yet something did not sit right with the world's greatest detective.

For someone who left little—practically worthless—to absolutely no evidence on the scene of the crime, this was extremely sloppy.

But it was a lead, a start, and he would be a fool not to follow it, if not tread upon it carefully. With that in mind, he worked his way through the database of To-Oh's school system, creating a list of potential suspects based upon not only the color of their locks, but their intelligence as well—he had long since deduced that someone who could completely perplex the entire Japanese police force must must have a large IQ. All of this was being accomplished inside the safety of an expensive, yet well-secure hotel.

After an hour of sitting in his usual crouch, hunched over his hardworking laptop, Watari had briefly visited the raven-haired detective in order to deliver his daily piece of strawberry cheesecake. A worthy and not unusual dinner for this man. He picked up his cake, and with one fluid motion, he took a single bite from it, relishing in its natural sweetness.

He glanced at his computer for just a moment, his obsidian eyes reflecting the bright lights emitted from the screen. The time was five o'clock. Within the measly sixty-minutes it had taken to fan through the hundreds of people who frequently lurked the campus, he had generated a list only consisting of one.

He reached into his front pocket to retrieve his cell phone, selecting the tenth contact listed underneath "favorites". He impatiently waited for the receiver to answer.

As soon as the ringing ceased and a gruff voice gave a distracted hello to the unknown caller, L's ever-present voice changer responded to him as he spoke through the machine, "Yagami-san, you once mentioned you had a son that's currently attending To-Oh University."

* * *

_AN: I just have a few things here and there that I numbered and stuff, thought I'd give the description for it._

_(1): I will refer to the killer as man for two reasons: this makes it easier to write and there are few serial killers throughout history who were not men._

_I wrote this because I thought there were going to be a few people wondering why the task force was calling the To-Oh murderer a "he" throughout the investigation, when they don't have a clue what this person looks like or if they're a man or a woman._

_(2): from what I got from wikipedia, it is the flat portion of a knife, or, as they referred to it, the "cross-sectional area" of a knife._

_I don't know. I just felt this was close-enough. Correct me if I'm wrong, please. XD_

_(3): In a homicide case, the police cover the hands in bags in order to preserve any potential evidence that may lie underneath their fingers nails, such as skin or hair. Paper bags are preferred because they don't speed up the putrefaction process._

_I hope the constant switching of Ryuzaki to L wasn't too confusing. I was unsure about it as I typed. When I wrote more of a point of view from the task team as their thoughts were given, I used Ryuzaki, while when L was doing an action directly or thinking, I just used his name..._

_That was okay, right?_

_Reviews are appreciated. :)_


	3. Chapter 2 (Part 1)

_I can't believe how long it's been since I've last updated. Way longer than I was planning to, and I'm still not done with Chapter Two. See I was completely screwed over for awhile; first there was school—I was overwhelmed with assignments and needed to do some insane studying hours (I currently have Anatomy and Physiology), and then I had broken my a finger in my right hand while playing Power Volleyball (an extracurricular class)._

_So for weeks on end I was in terrible pain, because of that injury's tenderness (it had broken a chunk off the bone in my middle-joint), and then I developed tendinitis, because I was trying to write with my right hand in style I wasn't used to, and it pretty much just screwed it up. I couldn't even pick up my phone with it, much less type on a laptop._

_Two weeks after recovering from it all, and I still hadn't finished the chapter. I've been absolutely busy every weekend and I decided that what I wrote so far should just be divided into two parts for now. I'll continue to work on finishing the other half._

___My followers! I have not given up on this fanfic, I am just getting started. I might be a person who gets easily sidetracked, but I'm not one to give up unless I look back on something I had previously written and realise, "Wow me, that was shit. What the hell were you trying to pull?"_

_So here it is. It will reveal more so on Light's situation, blah blah blah._

Songs I have found for "Crimson Avenue":

-Shotgun Valentine by Infidel Inc. (Official theme song of my fanfic. It resonates so well with it)

-Gift for You by Celldweller

_And if you're curious, I have many more songs that I've connected with this fanfic. I'll be sure to share them as time progresses._

_Anyways, I hope you enjoy. :D_

* * *

**Chapter Two: Just Another Victim (Part One)**

The sun's rays squeezed itself past the drawn curtains, forcing its way into his room; another morning had arrived. His alarm had woken him up, filling the room with its annoying mantra as caramel eyes opened blearily. Light Yagami struggled to turn off the cursed machine, his fingers barely able to click the "off" button.

It was 6:00 am. He briefly considered lying in bed all day, having no energy to so much as walk to school, but that thought never lasted long. He forced himself to crawl out from underneath the covers. He felt as if he could barely stand; sleep hadn't come easily to him last night, every dream he had were always plagued with nightmares. He was ultimately surprised that he hadn't woken up with a start, covered in sweat, before his alarm even had the chance to announce the time.

The nightmares were absolutely horrendous, and violent, extremely violent. He would be running, always running, through a black abyss. It was eerily silent, not a sound echoed throughout the vast emptiness aside from his erratic breathing. The overwhelming terror which surged through his veins consumed him; something was after him, a shadow lurking somewhere there in the dark, patiently waiting for Light to tire and finally come to a stop, but he never would. And that made the being angry. Footsteps would then began to fall in sync with his, coming closer with each passing moment, so Light ran even faster.

Running faster, however, had been a severe mistake. He lost his footing, slipping against something wet, a puddle perhaps. He fell to the ground in a tumble, his shoulder ramming harshly against the hardened floor as his cheek was scraped against its surface. The fall left him momentarily dazed, unsure of what had just occurred. With caution, Light's arm outstretched towards the cause of his blunder and his fingers were met with an unknown liquid; with no light, he couldn't discern what it was exactly.

The second mistake he had made, was to reach out further still, attempting to discover where this wetness had come from. There was something there, limp beside his collapsed form. It was against his better judgment, as if an outside force compelled him to investigate more so than to prod it with just a mere finger. Light pulled himself into a sitting position, cradling his ruined shoulder, in order to shift closer to the unknown. He reluctantly released his hold of his injury in order to clasp his hand onto this fallen figure in an attempt to decipher what it was.

As soon as his fingers grasped around something small, something soft, yet something smooth, the once dark abyss was suddenly illuminated by a lone lantern. What lay before Light—with his hand still having a firm hold—was a rotting carcass staring into the nothingness that surrounded them. His blood ran cold, he immediately let go of the deceased in preference to cover his mouth as he fought the urge to throw up; despite the sick feeling he felt just from the mere sight of the mangled corpse, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

The eyes of the dead seemed to focus on his terrified being, it's head slowly shifting in order to get a better view of Light's crumpled form. With no warning, its head collapsed onto its side, startling its onlooker. "Light-..."

He screamed, scrambling backwards until his back rammed against a foreign object, his brain not registering that it was not the corpse whom had spoken, but something much worse. His entire body froze, reluctant to even take so much as a breath. "Light-sama..."

The repetition of his name said with such endearment, yet underlined with such hatred, caused him to inhale a sharp breath; he steeled himself, both body and mind, before he had the nerve to slowly rotate his head towards the voice that echoed behind him. A rough hand caught Light's turning jaw, holding it firm, and preventing it from any further movement. "No, not yet."

The hand drifted down his neck, fingers lightly trailing the skin with an air of affection—if it could be called as such—settling right over his windpipe, applying a gentle squeeze.

The numerous nightmares never ended similarly, each tortuous death dealt upon him varied in every degree of severity. Sometimes it was instant, others prolonged and lasting for minutes before his mind could not cope with such a scene, gracing him with the interruption that is life.

That is, until he was reminded that even in life, he could not escape the never ending horror that was reality. The reality that was the figure in the dark.

He had seen him, had witnessed his shadow trailing behind his strolling form as he would travel towards his destined location—school, home, his girlfriend's apartment, and occasionally to the local drug store. The man's head would be cast down, hidden by the large black hood of his jacket, feet traveling to the rhythm of Light's own footsteps, never straying too far from him.

On those rare occasions where he had gotten a glimpse of the figure, it would seem as if the man would just simply diverge from his course, slipping away from his view a moment later. Initially he wasn't particularly concerned by this straggler; he appeared as if he posed no particular threat, that is, until he had the oddest feeling course through him, coercing him to look out of his bedroom window. And outside there the man stood, just staring at him, watching him. The figure had left an instant not too soon after, realising that his presence was now known.

But he was Light Yagami, son of a cop, whose intelligence rivaled that of some of the world's greatest, and he knew that he had the capability of handling this on his own. His family did not need to know of this shadow whom had taken such interest in him, it would only be a burden for them. He would be fine when dealing with this on his own.**  
**

So he thought.

There was no time like the present, because as he looked back on it now, he realised how idiotic and foolish he had been. He should have asked for help in the beginning, but now it was far too late. What once seemed like a person whom Light had fooled himself into believing was harmless and easily discourageable, had turned out to be an absolute nut who was obsessive, dangerous, and unpredictable. A lethal combination. By now he had realised that this man would be the death of him.

Light stumbled towards the restroom, his body feeling lethargic and ill from his lack of sleep. He struggled to slip out of his clothes, clothes from the previous day which he had been too tired to replace with a fresh new pair of pajamas; on a normal day he would have been purely disgusted with himself for practically sleeping in his own filth, but now he just didn't have the energy left in him to care anymore.

He turned on the water, setting it to a scathing temperature as he listlessly stepped inside, and then he had done something he found great comfort from as of late, he slumped onto the white tiles, placed his head into his hands and just stayed in that position until the water grew cold.

* * *

Light was supposed to leave the house twenty minutes ago when he had finally found the energy to leave the now freezing shower, all the while ignoring the sense of dread that filled his gut. He grabbed the nearest shirt in his vicinity, which so happened to be a shirt he had worn two days ago. It hung loose on his thin frame, emphasizing how small and ill he now seemed instead of his usual air of health and confidence. Light was losing himself within the grave that he was continuing to dig for himself, filled with so many regrets.

His phone suddenly vibrated, reminding him that he had unread notifications needing to be reviewed. He shuffled over and gingerly grabbed the device, turning it on to find out that he had missed three calls from the previous night. One being from his father, who had left no voicemail behind—it was most likely work-related, him calling to let his son know that he would not come home until late.

The second was from his girlfriend, Misa Amane; in summary she had wanted to wish him goodnight and asked him if his "cold" was getting any better, because she had missed him and was sad that he asked for her not to come over until he had felt better. In reality, he was avoiding her at all costs. She would be too perceptive to his physical appearance, sensing that something was wrong. He did not want to drag her into this mess that he had created.

He cared for her, that much was true, but in truth he held no romantic feelings for her, unsure of why he even bothered to keep her by his side with such a title. She was overwhelming, demanding, and a complete airhead, but she too was kind, cheerful, and loving. She could make any man instantly fall for her, yet she chose the one man that she would love, but who could never love her back. It was a sad truth, but something that could never change unless she, herself, realised it.

As soon as the school day passed, he would give her a call to hear about her no-doubtful boring day as an aspiring model and actress, but he would at least give a compelling act of interest to please her. That's what he would always do.

He paused once he saw the number of the third caller, its identity unknown to the youth; they had left a message. Could it be _him_? There was no hesitation when he had pressed the button which allowed him to listen to whatever else _he _could possibly want with him. There was silence initially, with an occasional murmur on its end. Light took a deep breath, holding it in in anticipation of the voice that would no doubt belong to the shadow. After a few seconds of this, there it was.

**"**_Whoops—hold on a moment, Sakura-chan—hey Nakumura-san, it's me, Tonaka-san. Just calling to let you know we'll be passing by your neighborhood in an hour or so, so don't be surprised if we drop by for a bit to say hi. See you then."_

He let out a sigh of relief; it wasn't him.

* * *

_Hopefully that will quench any growing impatience those who are following me have. I figured something was better than nothing._

_And don't worry, it will get less heavy and maybe depressing, eventually! Life doesn't suck forever! Obviously a little sugar-addict here will make Light's life awesome again._

_DNApple out! *WOOSH!*_


	4. Chapter 2 (Part 2)

_This had taken me forever to write, too long. I was in a writer's block for awhile in the beginning, but soon I grew disinterested in writing and wished to draw instead, so I blame solely on myself for taking this long. I'm pretty happy I took my time on this, though, because it turned out the way I wanted it. I also caught some contradictions I had started writing. That would have been confusing._

_I also have been thinking about making my own **cover for this fanfic**. It'd be a traditional drawing (maybe use ink-black for everything but the blood, i'll use red-if I'm able to pull it off), unless I try digital (Black and white). You can find the poll on my profile page ;)_

_I've also come up with my own personal playlist for the story, and thus I'll slowly add them (as mentioned in Part 1)._

Songs for "Crimson Avenue":

-It's Thunder and It's Lightning by We Were Promised Jetpacks

-A Darker Forest by Thursday

_Quick disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs or the songs in the previous chapter. I also do not own the characters of Death Note, except for the two OC's mentioned._

* * *

**Chapter Two: Just Another Victim (Part Two)**

There was nothing in this world that Light cared for more than the well-being and safety of his family. It was years ago that he had made a promise to his father that he would watch over his mother and sister and ensure that they were safe when his father would leave the house for long hours at a time, working on his newest case. And not once had he broken that trust, not once had he allowed any strange solicitors to converse with his mother and sister, and not once had he let them leave the house alone during the night or during horrid weather; he had never let his father down, he had never let anything ill occur to them. But now, now he, himself, was a threat.

The only solution to that threat was the distancing of himself from them.

Light would hole himself up in his room for hours at a time, never once leaving for anything. Well, anything that did not relate to escape, escape from the constant fear, and escape from the horrible thoughts that purged his mind of what _he _could be doing at that particular moment. Light would run, run down the stairs and out of the house with no destination set in mind, but he knew, he knew where he would inevitably stand before. He would stand before the entrance of a crumbling, abandoned alley, forgotten amidst the busy streets of his city. He never once understood why exactly; why that one street; why that one specific corner in all of this madness.**  
**His mind would not let him remember.

Light had solely relied on his mother, who would leave his supper precariously placed beside his bedroom door, reminding him that he needed to eat. Most often than not it would just lie there until it grew cold, ignored and forgotten, as well.

His mother and sister were worried about his anti-social behavior, his withering appearance, and everything that made him him was beginning to shatter, and they had no idea why. Light would not give them their much needed answer. He would rather have his family remain ignorant than allow them to get involved with this unpredictable menace.

Light cautiously walked down the steps, his body relying heavily upon the stair railing in order to not stumble down them. He was not as coordinated as he used to be; he blamed his newly acquired sleeping and eating habits.

He had hoped to elude his mother of his presence, having memorised the creaking steps ever since he had first attempted to escape from the prison that was his mind; however, his mother was patiently waiting beside the last step. She was looking up at him with a troubled, yet determined expression, "Light, what time did you fall asleep last night? You look, well, tired... terrible, really."

Light paused briefly from his slow descent towards the main floor, his eyes avoiding his worried mother's in order to feign honesty correctly for her sake. He swallowed before he began to speak, "Around midnight; I must have been so caught up preparing for an upcoming exam, I hadn't realised how much time had passed. I'm sorry, I'll try to go to bed at a much more reasonable time." He felt disgusted at how smooth the lie and the empty promise passed through his lips.

Light had not fallen asleep at midnight; unbeknown to his parents, he was absent from the house until five in the morning. Something had felt wrong within his being, as if something terrible was occurring at that particular moment, a something he was the essence of, and that feeling was never wrong. His adrenaline had increased, he had began to sweat profusely, his breaths became shallower, his muscles tensed; he felt the insatiable desire to do something, anything, because he knew on the other side of the city, a poor soul had been taken, because they had stepped towards death's door. The door that was Light Yagami.

He could do nothing; he had not known whom the target was, where the woman was taken, and whom she was with. So instead of resting upon his bed, tormenting himself with these thoughts, he had walked the quiet and lonely streets of Japan, his path illuminated by the few street lights that lined the walkway. This late into the night, most people were sane enough to stay within their homes, however, there were the rare few who had a few missions they needed to accomplish before they turned in for the night. Light was one of those few who had traveled that silent trek, that is, until this agonizing feeling of helplessness and terror faded away, and he could finally think clearly.

Despite how honest her son appeared to be, his mother was not completely convinced of his performance; however, she felt reassured enough to change the subject, "You didn't eat your dinner last night." Before he got a chance to protest her sudden accusation, she raised her hand to stop him from giving her another excuse, "I made you breakfast, and this time you will eat it."

Sachiko grabbed his wrist, pulling his sullen form towards the dining room. Worry gripped her like a vice; she had noticed the blatant changes of her son. He was isolating himself from everyone. His performance in school was deteriorating. His healthy appearance was dissipating: his skin looked pale and sickly, growing shadows accentuated his thinning frame, his face reflected how little energy he harbored nowadays, and his eyes looked dark and haunted. She had no basis to determine what entity was slowly killing her son, and she knew that even if she had directly asked him what was giving him such anxiety, he would refuse to answer any of her questions, despite how much she needed an answer. Light was much like his father in that aspect: he was very stubborn.

She would wait patiently until he was finally ready to tell her the troubles he was so keen to keep secret, relieving himself from the burden those troubles weighed upon him. Until then, she continue playing her role as the caring mother; once in a great while, however, she would bring it upon herself to ask him what was causing him to change into the shell of what he once was, but every time she had done so, he was not ready to answer. He had needed more time.

She forced Light to sit down at their dining room table. Two simple, traditional, and filling breakfast dishes were prepared just for him: a bowl of miso soup and a bowl of steamed rice. Sachiko was dead set into making her son eat something, anything, before he took one step outside; if she had to, she wouldn't hesitate to force feed him.

Light had no particular appetite, especially while he had felt there was a large possibility that his father would discover another body lying amongst the shadows of the empty alleyways, but his mother's piercing gaze would not leave his half-lidded eyes. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his sickened stomach before forced himself to bring a small spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Once satisfied with her son's actions, his mother took a seat across from him, running her fingers through her brown hair in relief. As Light worked on swallowing that second bite of food his mother had insisted he ate, he gave her a calculating look. For the first time in weeks, he had taken in the contours of his mother's aging face. She looked so much older; years worth of wrinkles and graying hairs began to define his mother's features, and he knew he was the core of it. Guilt began to settle in his stomach, further taking away what little appetite he already had.

He was so caught up in those few glum thoughts that he hadn't noticed that his mother was beginning to speak to him until she was already a couple of words in, "-ou know you can tell me anything that's going on with you right now. Anything at all. I won't judge you, I'm your mother, and I want to let you know that I will love you no matter what is going on in your life. I'm worried about you and your health, just everything. Please, Light, please tell me what you're trying to hide."

She looked so terrified, that feeling of her helplessness seeped into every word that she had spoken, a sort of panic setting in, and Light felt tempted to tell her everything. The calls, the nightmares, the letters the murders, everything about _him_ and about what _he_'s done. Oh it was almost too tempting; a childish thought that toyed with reason, giving him the illusion that his mother could mend all the mistakes that he's made, all the horror that he's witness. And truthfully, he almost had, too; he could feel the words ready to form upon his lips.

But before he could do so, a single thought reverberated throughout his mind: _he_ would surely target her next. _He_ would ensure that the face of death consumed his mother's own. _He _would leer over her lifeless corpse with a smile so sickening thrilled and delighted over _his_ own actions, allowing Light to know that it was he who caused her downfall. That thought process was what sent him back to reality; if he had been naïve enough to believe that his mother could protect him from the wrath of his faceless stalker, he would be giving her a death sentence. There was no doubt within his mind that this would occur, because _he_ would see her as a threat.

With that final conclusion, the conclusion that his mother was better off worrying about the unknown, he steadfastly told her, "There's nothing to tell. Everything's fine." But everything was not, and his mother knew this.

Sachiko sighed deeply as she watched her son leave the room, abandoning his half eaten bowl of rice; despite already anticipating her son's denial, she could not help but feel rather disappointed. Yes, Light was very stubborn, much like his father, perhaps too stubborn for his own good.

* * *

Silence. Absolute and utter silence. Unnerving silence, echoing silence, silence so potent, even those who penetrate it cannot help but muffle their footsteps, their own voices, and their own thoughts as not to shatter it.

One soul dared to challenge the suffocating environment, his footsteps clacking against the tiled flooring in a hasty manner, urgent to escape the deserted hallways of To-Oh University. Light felt vulnerable traveling so far alone when his mind wasn't clouded over with primal instinct. It was these brief moments that he had felt a searing gaze burn a hole into his innermost being, watching his every move, his every thought. He would always wonder, was _he _there watching and waiting?

Quiet, peace, these words did not come to his mind when describing the lonely pathway, as he traveled towards his first period class. If anything, these hallways were terror in itself.

As the sight of Mr. Matsuoka**'**s classroom door drew closer, his hysteric thoughts overwhelmed him more and more. If Light did not grasp a hold of the door handle a moment later, he knew that the owner of those dreaded eyes would seize and kill him, just as he killed those three girls. But of course, there was nothing preying upon him in that particular instant. This fear was thriving upon his recent paranoia, and he could not recognize that his mind was beginning to personally introduce him to those haunting visions he consistently saw within his dreams.

Light opened the door.

His grand entrance was anything but grand. There was not one soul who was surprised by Light's late arrival, in fact, by then it had become a daily event since the start of October—about two-and-a-half months earlier. With each day, Light would arrive a minute or so later. The lesson was already nearing its end; the genius had missed the majority of the man's lecture once again.

The teacher was not particularly worried about Light's constantly changing schedule; Mr. Matsuoka was a man of indifference. He never once was involved in the personal affairs of others. He simply deemed that Light had taken to using some illegal substance based upon his disheveled appearance and left it at that. He never confirmed that suspicion; nevertheless, it was too messy to get involved with. Mr. Matsuoka had only adjusted to the student's new behaviour and settled with that.

Despite the lack of responses, Light must have realised how crazed he must appear, a tinge of lunacy was seen within his panic-filled eyes; he took a deep breath in order to regain his composure, and subsequently took his seat beside his schoolmate, Kiyomi Takada.

She did not berate him for arriving forty minutes late; instead, she offered him a slight frown. Her hand slowly slid her notebook toward his person after opening it to the notes of today's lesson without uttering a single word. This exchange had been relatively normal for the two, ever since he had first befriended her as a freshman in college. Sure, they would have plenty of conversations in the middle of the period, but they never questioned the other's personal affairs unless the other brought the subject up themselves.

As Light copied down her notes, his phone unexpectedly went off his in his front pocket; it's electrical body vibrating briefly to notify that he had just received a text message. This was rather odd considering the strict rule he had implemented on his contacts: if they ever wished to talk to him, they had to call him. Whoever it was had either forgotten or had blatantly ignored Light's insistence once they had exchanged numbers. He subsequently abandoned his previous task in order to quench his curiosity and slight irritation.

(You have one unread message from-)

"Misa?" He murmured underneath his breath. This was rather unexpected, because she herself preferred to call him. Coupled with a few moments of hesitation, Light finally selected the icon of the closed envelope.

_[^,^ Light-kun, what are you doing right now?]_

His brow furrowed in slight irritation and his expression barely conveyed how dumbfounded he was by such a question. Misa had just left him a voicemail asking how he felt with his "cold"; for all she knew, he was at home in his bed battling against the illness that plagued him. Light was grateful that at least Misa had decided to use proper grammar for his sake. Just as he began typing up a response, his phone went off with just as much intensity as before.

_[Of course I know what you're doing! ;)]_

_Then what was the point in this_? He thought angrily to himself as he began deleting the text he had began writing, because what he was about to send was now pointless; he replaced it then with a new response:

_{What is it Misa? Why are you texting me such ridiculous messages—much less texting me in the first place?}_

Seconds passed and his phone hadn't gone off. Light grew impatient as every moment slid by, and he waited with anticipation, shifting his body in order to hover over the electronic device with his palms resting beside the still phone. Takada's brow raised with curiosity at his sudden change of demeanor, but chose to remain silent. It had taken another minute before Light received her response:

_[I haven't seen you in awhile Light-kun. When will we meet again? :(]_

Although he had admitted that what she had written was true, he hadn't known how to immediately respond to it.

**"**Light-kun, we've been dismissed; we need to go," Takada stole him out of his confused thoughts and began to tug on the back of his shirt in order to urge him to move at a much quicker pace. He complied with her request, but his mind couldn't help but obsess over those messages further, and it hadn't been long before he gravitated over the screen of his phone when they were walking side by side in the hall. He hadn't even realised that Takada was standing much closer to him than was necessary, which was highly unusual for her. His mind would only focused on the newest message that his girlfriend had sent him.

He sighed before hesitantly responding to her text:

_{I'm still contagious, Misa. I don't want you to get sick}_

He nodded absentmindedly in satisfaction with the message he had sent, as if congratulating himself for a job well done. He hoped that it would satiate her for the time being. He nearly dropped the phone when it went off again a few seconds later; he turned on its screen.

_[We both know you're not sick.]_

As soon as he read that brief sentence, he was no longer walking alongside Takada, but standing still in the middle of the hallway just staring at the screen. "How?" He murmured underneath his breath, paying no heed to Takada's troubled stare as soon as she realised he was in an unresponsive state.

"Light-kun?" she hesitantly slipped the phone away from his loose grip, snapping him out of his trance.

He forced an unconvincing smile and held out his hand, "Sorry."

She glanced at his open palm curiously before curling her hands into a firmer grip around the small gadget, "I'll give this back to you once we're in the room." Takada turned around and resumed their path towards their destination, Light sighed before silently walking behind her, his feet beginning to drag for he had nothing to distract him from his exhaustion now which struck not much later after Takada's confiscation.

He was grateful that he would once more be alleviated from this realisation once they entered the room, for his mind would no longer focus on his desire to sleep, but how he should exactly reply to such a disarming message. In fact, he was pondering over it as soon as the door of Ms. Kimura appeared, reminding him of his predicament. How did Misa come to realise that he was not in fact sick? Light knew that she was perceptive, but she, too, was gullible, and so she would never question him unless they were face to face. Only then would she know that he had been lying, but she knew that he was lying to her now.

When had she seen him last? Not since the middle of September, about a month after the mysterious figure emerged into his life and changed it forever. He had only realised how dangerous his situation had become once he had opened a letter that _he_had left in his locker. He had managed to avoid Misa as much as he could without her becoming suspicious of his newly estranged personality; a week later he had lied to her about contracting the flu, and with another week after that he had lied that the illness had been diluted to only a cold. So how could it be that she knew he was not sick? He made sure to give her a believable performance on the phone (it wasn't too difficult considering that he hadn't felt well in weeks), and avoided any places she may frequent when he was forced to leave his house. She never talked to his parents unless she came over, and she had only ever visited his school grounds if they were planning to go on a date later that night on a school day. Then how?

_Unless it isn't her_, his eyes widened at this distressing thought; a sinking feeling began to emerge as the pieces of the conversation fit into place. He was reminded about his latest midnight trek. Had she been the one to die? Had her death been the cause of his latest terror?

The phone that Takada held went off.

She opened the door.

Light felt as if his world were crumbling around him as he practically ran the final few steps through the open doorway, his hand violently grabbing his phone out of Takada's grasp. She gazed at him worriedly as he took his seat in the chair nearest to him. He, on the other hand, only cared about what words "Misa" had sent him:

_[I saw your dad today. He was surprised to see me.]_

Hope fluttered weakly within his chest, and that hope had him wondering if there was some chance that it really was Misa who was this ominous texter. As far as he knew, Misa had decided to perform a cruel and twisted revenge in order to satiate her fury for being lied to and avoided for so long. She could have decided that she could make him get well much quicker by handing her personally made get well kit to his father so that he could deliver it to him, only to find out that Light was in decent health. This scenario was possible, no matter how slim a chance it was that she ignored his insistences, but still possible, nevertheless.

He took a deep breath, pinching his brow, waiting one silent and brief moment to collect himself, and focused on the monotonous drone of Ms. Kimura to calm his nerves. He sighed before hesitantly typing.

_{What did the two of you talk about?}_

He stared at the phone anxiously, knowing full well that its response was the determining factor of the texter's identity. He waited. And waited. Nothing.

He ran his hand anxiously through his hair before glancing around the room, as if to identify the stalling respondent himself. To his relief, he saw no one with a phone in his vicinity. The chances of this being his girlfriend insignificantly soared, but, even still, the chances meant everything to Light Yagami; the dread lessened to some degree.

The now familiar chime of his phone vibrated for one brief moment. His hand hovered over the phone a few meager seconds before he worked up the nerve to read what had been sent:

_[We didn't talk at all. It's funny really, he didn't even want to see my face :(]_

He reread it again, and again, hoping that somehow the text would miraculously change. This message confirmed his previous suspicions: this was not Misa Amane. There was no other explanation that he could conjure that seemed remotely probable.

Misa would only be able to determine his health visually, or by simply asking one of his parents how his cold was doing. He knew if she had come across, let's say, Takada, for instance, would never divulge the truth, not because of loyalty, but because she had never liked Misa in the first place. Aside from her suddenly knowing this lie, the part about his father concerned him. His father adored Misa Amane. He truly believed that Light would one day marry her. It's not surprising that his father expected that; any ordinary man wouldn't hesitate to claim her as their wife: she was talented, joyous, kind, beautiful, and intelligent (to some degree). The tragedy of it all, was that Light had no such plans. He had never loved her more than the platonic sense, she, his father, and everyone who had known the two had never recognized it, and they never would.

Light put his head in his hands for a minute, just sitting there, quietly, without any sort of emotion emerging. It was no use denying it all and Misa's demise. It was already too late.

But his stubbornness did not wish this to be true, and so, with a heavy heart, he typed one final message to her killer:

_{The how did you know I wasn't sick?}_

Seconds ticked by, and then:

_[...Check your locker, Light-kun.]_

He stood up swiftly, obliging to the word's command, ignoring the flustered state of Takada as he left the room. The silence of the empty halls no longer mattered to Light; his mind was too focused on his current objective. Small lockers framed the walls of the halls, each bound shut by separate locks bought by each individual to accompany their rented lockers. His, specifically, was located not too far from Mr. Matsuoka's classroom, it was near the main hallway of To-Oh University; a location frequently visited by the majority of the students. On the right hand side of the hallway, the first locker in the row and nearest to his vicinity appeared. He anxiously turned the dialed his locker number, all the while his mind resonated over and over again: _This is it, it's over._

Once opened, he hesitantly reached inside of it, only to acquire a white envelope stained crimson.

(You have one unread message:)

_[She's gone Light-sama. Don't worry, she's gone.]_

* * *

_I apologise in advance if it seemed as if I were rambling. It's very difficult to organize how to explain what occurred prior to that specific point in time. This was the main reason why I took so long... again, sorry._

Characterization:

_I imagine Light's mother to be a caring woman who'll do whatever it takes to protect her kids. However, I doubt she would force her kids into talking, unless it's apparent that their life is in danger. Light is only showing signs of exhaustion, and he's eating enough to where she's not going to fight him tooth or nail to spill... at least so far in the story._

_If I remember correctly in the manga, Sachiko was a rather quiet and traditional wife. She never questioned her husband, she ensured that there was peace within the household and attempted to keep a sort of normalcy within it._

_As for Takada, I reread some of the manga to see if I kept her in character, and I was surprised to see how quiet she was._

_Of course there'll be more dialogue as the story progresses, I just wanted to focus on the main point of the story: the To-Oh killer contacts Light Yagami through Misa's phone. I had so much fun writing that part. That section flew by quickly._

_**On another note**, I've decided the premise for the **third chapter** and the title for all those who are anxiously waiting to see what it's about. I'll be kind and disclose two things: 1) The point of view will shift to L, and 2) The title of this chapter is "A Light Goes Out"._

_That's all I'm willing to say._

_Goodnight._


End file.
